Always Right
by Erileen
Summary: Dean trusts his Dad, because his Dad is always right...usually. One shot flashback to the night that the Winchester's lives changed forever.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Warnings: No language or anything like that. I'm not sure if you could consider this story spoiler-ish, because everybody who's a fan has seen the Pilot...or at least they know what happened to Mary, right? I mean, they show it in the beginning re-cap of almost every freakin' episode...I don't know, I'm confused and I just really want a cup of coffee because coffee is my friend.**

**

* * *

**

_To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved - George MacDonald_

_

* * *

_

Dean trusted his father, because he was always right.

Well, usually.

Sometimes, Daddy wasn't right. Like when they were at the picnic last summer. He remembered it was hot and they were sitting at a table – him and his Dad and Mom and Sammy. And his mom had gotten up to get some more napkins because Dean had just spilled his lemonade all over the table. His mom had handed Sam to his father. "Let's give Sam some food," he'd said, cutting up a piece of hot dog and feeding it to Sam.

Bad idea. The next thing Dean knew his brother's face was turning from red to blue and his mom was screeching. He remembered his Dad had turned Sam upside down and then whacked him on the back a few times before the piece of the hot dog shot out. Some people clapped like at the end of a movie in the movie theater, but not his Mom. She'd reached down and picked up the little piece of hot dog that John had fed the baby. She'd made the 'gotcha' face that was usually reserved just for Dean when she'd caught him doing something bad, like the time he'd put Play-Doh his father's work boots. She'd raised her one eyebrow and tilted her head to the side a little bit and said, "John?" And Dean had heard his father, his brave Dad who wasn't scared of anything in the entire world, gulp.

So that time John Winchester had been wrong. But really, having one time when you were wrong wasn't a bad track record, all things considered.

So when his father had told him to get out of the house, he trusted him. He was usually right, after all.

He had been awakened in the middle of the night by his Mom screaming. He sat up in bed, breathing hard. He tried to figure out if he'd been having a dream, like the dream he'd had two nights before where all of the light in the entire world had gone out and everything was a sea of blackness and he couldn't find his mom or his dad…that had been a scary dream. He'd crept out of bed and into his parents' bedroom, just to make sure that they were still there and the world really wasn't all dark. He'd then proceeded to worm his way into bed with them, where he was safe and warm. But that was another story.

He was fairly certain this wasn't a dream…especially when he heard his Dad yell, "Mary!" His Dad sounded scared, and if his Dad was scared then there was a reason to be scared.

Because his Dad was always right.

He'd pushed himself out of bed and hurried down the hall. His eyes hurt from the bright light coming from Sam's nursery. Sam was crying and crying and crying…why wasn't anyone helping him? Whenever Sam cried one of his parents picked him up and rocked him until he calmed down. Sometimes his Mom even danced with Sam around the house, singing this little song she'd made up that always calmed his brother down. "I sang this when you were a baby too, Dean," she'd said. She'd taught him the song, but he forgot it already. Maybe with a little bit of help from his Mom, though, he'd be able to remember it and stop Sammy from crying.

He stepped forward and suddenly felt the heat, and all of a sudden there was his Dad. He looked _really _scared now. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can!" he yells, shoving the baby into Dean's arms. Sam is heavy, heavier than he remembered. Sometimes he held his brother, but usually only when he was sitting on the sofa. Just last week he'd sat on the sofa and watched TV and help Sam in his lap the entire time.

"Don't look back! Now Dean, go!"

His Dad usually didn't yell this much unless he was really angry, like the time he tried to fix the sink. Dean had squatted near his father and passed him tool after tool as John had lain on his back, reaching up, trying to repair the pipes underneath of the counter. He yelled words that he then begged Dean not to tell his mother about. "I'll take you out for ice cream!" he bargained. Dean hadn't been planning on telling his mom anyway, but he wasn't one to turn down free ice cream. He'd gotten chocolate.

Dean turned around and ran down the steps. Didn't Mommy always say never to run with Sammy? But his Dad had said to go as fast as he could…plus, he didn't want to be up there. It was really hot, like the time he'd accidentally burned himself when he'd grabbed his mother's curling iron by mistake. "Poor Dean," she'd whispered, kissing his burn. "You'll be okay, babe."

He hoped his Daddy didn't get burned, because that room was really big, bigger than the curling iron. And if he got burned all over, would Mom have enough kisses to fix him up?

He pulled the front door open quickly not caring that it hit the wall. His Dad always got mad when he threw the door open like that, but he had to get Sammy out…get himself out.

He hurried out onto the lawn and then turned back, gazing up at Sam's nursery. Orange light danced from it. Sam was still crying. "It's okay, Sam," he said, his mind scrambling desperately to remember the song that his Mom always sang that made Sammy feel better.

Suddenly he heard a noise from behind him, but before he could turn around strong arms picked him up. He wouldn't have been scared if he didn't smell his father's scent. He clung tighter to Sam, who started to slip from his grasp. "I gotcha," his Dad whispered.

And Dean knew that he wasn't going to fall, because his Dad was always right.


End file.
